


To Feel Whole Again

by sir_coriander_cadaverish



Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Gay Dads AU, M/M, serious injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:21:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27159244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_coriander_cadaverish/pseuds/sir_coriander_cadaverish
Summary: (This fic switches perspectives!!) How did Ballister lose his arm in the Gay Dads AU? It seems the general fandom consensus is an elevator accident, so here we go!warning: this will hurt :)
Relationships: Ballister Blackheart/Ambrosius Goldenloin
Kudos: 8





	To Feel Whole Again

**Author's Note:**

> Ayo! This lil fic is a 3-parter, and it starts off with Goldie's perspective, then switches to Ballister's, then back to Goldie's. (also Nimona doesn't exist yet lol)  
> Bon appetit, my little pain wh0res! jk i love you all

Part 1

I won't forget the way I found him. The way that he didn't scream, or cry out, or make any sound at all. The way I'd just been walking down the hallway after finally finding my coat, not realizing what had happened until I saw his arm fully intact, lying there on the linoleum floor, a horrifying sight in itself - while the elevator doors slid shut and took him downstairs as though nothing was wrong. The way l raced down the damp cement of the back stairs, screaming his name, my stupid pretentious coat billowing behind me, and I watched as the elevator doors slid open with a soft _ding_ , and there he sat, leaned against the wall and staring straight ahead at the wall opposite to him. He was a bit wide-eyed, but otherwise expressionless. My husband, sitting there on the tiled elevator floor with blood pooling in his lap. He didn't move an inch when I arrived, panicking and crying and reeling and already apologizing, not an inch except for his eyes - they shifted to focus on me. I suddenly didn't know what to say. I was hyperventilating. I wanted to puke. He seemed... almost calm, in spite of everything that was happening.

I won't forget that moment. The way he just gazed at me with this empty look in his eyes. That was, I think, a worse sight than that of his disembodied arm on the floor above.

Part 2

The doctors said I was in shock. They were right about that. Where they were wrong was in telling me it would wear off soon. You'd expect the shock to wear off after a few hours, but in my case, I felt numb for days.

Of course, the arm hurt now and then, phantom pains and whatnot. But emotionally, I was a blank slate. I couldn't imagine living without an arm, so I suppose for those first few days, I just... didn't.

That is, until we got home from the hospital. That's when the depression hit. The moment we entered our living room, I felt this overwhelming heaviness and gloom. From there, I went for days without speaking more than a few words. I practically stopped eating. There were some nights when I literally could not stop crying. But even as I wept, I felt nothing deep down. Just emptiness.

The tremors, though - those were a nightmare. For about a week after we got home, my entire body trembled, incessantly, day in, day out. At times it got so bad that my husband would try and hold me still, just to calm down the shaking for a bit, but it didn't do much. Regardless of our efforts, I shook like a leaf. But the strange thing was, throughout all of this, I still felt empty. It was as though I had lost not just my arm that day, but also my ability to care for it.

Sometimes I feel like Ambrosius was hurt by the accident more than I was. He seemed to take it as his fault, since he's the one who had kept me waiting in the elevator. Obviously that's ridiculous, but he wouldn't listen to reason. "If I had just hurried up," he'd tell me time and time again, with his eyes growing all wide and watery every time, "If I'd just moved even the tiniest bit faster... the door wouldn't have closed on you." He'd get himself so worked up over it, replaying the scenario over and over in his mind. I'd keep reminding him, "Elevators aren't supposed to cut through a human arm. They're supposed to have sensors, and safety precautions, and all of that. The elevator manufacturers are the only ones to blame here. I could never blame you." Eventually, I think he started to accept that.

Part 3

One night, I was asleep next to him when I was suddenly woken up by the sound of him sniffling, ever so softly, beside me. I woke with a start and saw that he was crying, and instantly I took him into my arms and held him, whispering little comforting bits of nothingness and stroking his back. "Hey, hey... _baby_... it's alright," I breathed, "Everything's alright." He sounded not heartbroken but calmly resolved in his response: "No... it's not." I could tell he felt detached from himself again, meaning that his body was crying but he was not. Still, he tried to snuggle into me the way that he usually would. I was awkward, trying not to press his bandaged shoulder as I hugged him, both of us uncomfortably aware of the newfound difficulty of what used to be such an easy, effortless gesture. After a moment, he burst out in frustration, _"Fuck!"_ Softly, I asked him what was wrong, knowing the answer already. His voice sounded so weak and defeated when he said it, it made my chest hurt. "...I can't even hug you anymore," he said bitterly. And then I was crying. For what felt like the fiftieth time that month, I didn't know what to say. I don't think either of us did. I just held him, for what felt like eons.

Finally, when things had calmed down a bit, I said, "We have to get you a prosthetic." His voice muffled, Ballister replied, "We can't afford a prosthetic." Filled with sudden exasperation, I retorted, "I don't care! It kills me to see you hurt like this, Ballister. It fucking kills me, and I know it kills you tenfold." He was quiet; he knew I was right. "We're gonna get you a new arm. I'll work three jobs if I have to." Ballister sighed. "Honey, you don't..." "I just want you to feel whole again." My voice was pleading, but I knew he wanted it even more than I did. After a moment, he caved. "Okay. Okay. We can try. Maybe we can get some money from the elevator people, I dunno." I smiled, relieved. "It's worth a shot."

We sat there in silence for a while, leaned against our pile of pillows, my arms still wrapped loosely around his waist. "...You know I love you so much," Ballister said softly, wearily, his voice strained yet sincere. "...Right?" I gently cupped his chin in my hand, lifted his face upward and kissed him tenderly, once, maybe twice. "Sweetheart," I said, "I love you too." He kept his eyes closed for a moment after the kiss, absorbing it. When he opened his eyes, he glanced up at me and tucked a chunk of hair affectionately behind my ear. "At least you can still do that _,"_ I whispered, offering him a small smile. He smiled back and nodded, but his eyes were full of hurt. He looked so sad, filled with the kind of sadness that shone plainly and clearly in one's eyes, full of desperation. But desperation for what? 

I took his hand and squeezed it earnestly. Honestly, I just wanted him to feel loved. To know that I had his back no matter what happened. And I did; believe me. I loved him so much in that moment: my darling husband, with his hair adorably tousled, and his sweet brown eyes gleaming, and his hand so soft but so strong in mine. I felt his pain as my own, and it was unbearable. I could feel the tremors through his grasp.

Eventually we fell asleep, worn out from our own grief. As we slept, I held him closer than I usually would. That morning, I woke beneath his arm.


End file.
